“Not done.”
“Okay.”
“You know the most important things I learned on the job?” Steve held up his beer, stopping Clay from trying to answer what was, clearly, a rhetorical question. “No rule book has all the answers in it. Not one right way to do things. You got to be smart, and you got to be fair. That’s what matters. It isn’t about being a man of the law so much as being a man. A good man.” He looked hard at Clay now, waiting for some sign, some understanding.
“Yeah. Yes. I get that.”
“Thought you might.” Steve’s eyes flicked over him before the sheriff took another deep slug.
“Anyway, all I’m saying is that you don’t have to look the part around here to get the job. Although,” he said with a wink, “it’s always a good idea to know the right people.”
“Whoa, Steve, I’m not trying to—”
“Yeah, well, I am. I’ve been at it twenty-five years and I got myself a girlfriend and all I want right now is to enjoy life. Been looking for someone to pass the torch to. Wasn’t ready to retire till the right man—or woman—came along.” Another sly look. “Wondering if maybe I found him.”
“Look, you’ve known me two weeks. I can’t—”
“Come to work for me. I’m low on deputies. When the time’s right, I’ll campaign for you. They’ll vote you in. I can retire. Your lady can keep her man, and you can stay here and feel useful again,” Steve said, crushing his can before setting it down. “I think everybody’d be getting pretty much exactly what they want, don’t you?”
Clay finished his beer and hesitated before accepting another.
“Why? I’m not the kind of—”
“You’re me.” The sheriff’s words stopped Clay with a surprised blink. “You’re the guy who figured he wasn’t worth a damn. People think you’re the bad guy, the monster, ’cause of the way you look, but inside”—he flicked Clay’s chest before leaning back, the wicker creaking under him—“you’re solid.”
The man’s dark eyes on his were steady, trusting. It felt good to have that kind of confidence pointed his way. Someone who got it.
Christ, don’t let me cry.
Clay set his beer on the table, got up, and went into the house, ran some water into a glass, and slugged it back. For about thirty seconds, he stood by the sink, waiting for the buzzing to subside, until he remembered it was already gone. Slowly, he sucked in one breath after another, waited, waited, and… Nothing. No buzz, no frantic scream, no mashed-up, frenzied thoughts. Instead, there was just…him. Him.
With a big, honest breath in, he went back out onto the porch and had that second beer with the sheriff before waving him off. He stayed out there alone for a while after that. Alone in a house that felt like home.
Something caught Clay’s attention—or, rather, the lack of something. He left the porch, stood on the steps, and stilled, head cocked, eyes roving over the yard. The quiet yard.
No cicada opera. A couple of insects sawing out their tunes here and there, but the loud, overwhelming cacophony was gone. Here one second and gone the next. Gone.
And with that silence came clarity. His mind, fuzzy and painfully blurred for so long, felt suddenly bright and clean.
Christ, could he do it? Could he stay?
What the hell would he do with himself here? He could work on George’s place, fix the shit that needed fixing, do that summer martial arts camp for the kids…but eventually he’d just be the loser camping out in her bed, bringing nothing to the table. That wouldn’t work for them long-term. He needed a job. Did he have it in him to be a cop?
Inside, he heard a creak and turned around to see George standing in her work clothes.
“Cicadas are gone,” he said, oddly choked up.
A hushed “Oh” fell from her lips. She came out and joined him on the top step, her eyes filling with tears before they overflowed and ran down her cheeks on a sob.
Hesitantly, he put an arm around her, relaxing when she sank into him.
“But you’re still here,” she said. “I left work, sure you’d be gone, and then I saw your truck, and now—”
“Not going anywhere, baby,” he said, taking her in his arms. “I’m home.”
* * *
Overhead, thunder rolled, finally here. George kept her head on Clay’s shoulder and stared at the sky, willing the storm to break. She wanted something to ground this bright, hopeful feeling.
